


Ain't Born Typical

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Prompt Sunday, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bless the Chargers, Drabbles, Drama Teacher Dorian, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Librarian Bull, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oberon!Bull, PE Teacher Bull, Pablo Neruda - Freeform, Puck!Dorian, Single Parents, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cozy home for my Adoribull drabbles and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble - Modern AU

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [prompt me on tumblr. ](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)

The park bench is slightly damp from an earlier snowfall when Dorian settles on it, but he can’t quite bring himself to get back up again. Let it soak right through to his silky smalls, he’s incapable of giving a single shit more.

He’s quit another retail job. Honestly, he has no idea if shoppers in Fereldan are universally a band of combative assholes or if it’s just his nationality that seems to incense every former soccer mom in the city.

But they all _find him_ , without fail. And the customer is always right, even if the customer happens to be a prejudiced housewife with no legitimate complaints.

Dorian had smiled, and complimented, and simpered, but none of it had mattered. And now…now he just wanted a few minutes to wallow in a public place before dragging himself back to his empty apartment.

And then it starts _misting_ again.

_**Misting.** _

He’s going to cry. His eyeliner is going to run and he just drops his face in his hands and his elbows to his knees and thinks, _Can lightning strike me if it mists?_

He doesn’t look up when the bench creaks, and a warm body occupies the space at his side. At least _someone_ wasn’t immediately put off by the telling tan of his skin.

…and then they start playing the harmonica.

He almost wants to laugh, but it comes out as this dreadfully wheezy warbling noise. “Ah, yes.” He says, “The tableau of my misery is complete.”

His seat mate, unperturbed, continues playing.

For a few minutes, everything is quiet. It’s…nice. And then it occurs to Dorian just why the tune is familiar.

“Are you…” He lifts his head from his hands, kohl smudged against his fingers and no doubt around his eyes, and blinks at the man beside him.

There’s a massive qunari with an eyepatch, watching him from the corner of his good eye. He’s smiling. Dorian can’t see his mouth moving, but he can _feel him_ smiling.

“Are you really playing “I Knew You Were Trouble” on a fucking harmonica?”

The larger man lowers the instrument and yes, in fact, there is a large, beaming grin on his face. “Seemed appropriate. I’ve got a thing for trouble. Tell me yours?”

It’s a horrible line.

Dorian knows it’s a horrible line, but the man actually looks like he gives a damn and he _needs that._

It’s a horrible line, and it works.

  
  



	2. And It's Coming Closer - Soulmate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gist of the story was this: 
> 
> Everyone had a soulmate, and until they met their soulmate, their heart was surrounded by a layer of ice. As they drew closer to their fated partner, the ice began to thaw, and their heart would grow warm, until finally, in the arms of their love, they knew true comfort and warmth. 
> 
> Dorian decided to take it all in with a grain of salt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Source prompt](http://au-gallery.tumblr.com/post/132565730693/soulmate-au-14) : Your body plays a game of hot and cold to locate your soulmate, the hotter you are the closer you are to your soulmate, the colder, the farther away.
> 
> Title ganked from “Closer” by Kings of Leon, which is probably not a bad thing to listen to as you read this.

 

Apparently, in the south, it was considered impolite to complain of the cold. For the longest time, Dorian couldn’t figure out  _why._ In Tevinter, it was always warm. There had been no changing of the seasons, at least not one near so drastic as caused all the trees to turn colors and drop leaves like outdated fashion. 

He had never truly felt  _cold_ before coming to the frigid south, but now it seemed to hollow out and take residence in his bones. Water was wet, the sky was blue, and Fereldan was colder than a Chantry sister’s tit. 

But no one would  _say so._

People would roll their eyes should Dorian complain of the bland food or the ever present mud, rain or shine, but heavens forbid he should mention the temperature. 

It took  _months_ in the south before an older woman took the time to sit down and explain it to him. She rested her hand on his arm and looked at him with genuine concern, and he imagined for a moment that this was what having a grandmother felt like. ...well, at least one that wouldn’t attempt to poison you. It was nice. 

She said, “Dear, do they not speak of soulmates in Tevinter?”

He thought she was joking. 

It  _sounded_ like a joke. 

But her fingers pressed against his skin, and the vague impression of warmth faded just as quickly as it came. “They do not?”

“I confess, I am...unfamiliar with the concept.”

“It’s a shame, so many people...though I suppose it explains quite a bit.”

“Evidently. Is there a point to this?”

“For each individual, there is one other meant to keep them warm. It’s quite a tale, and I’m not so certain you’re patient enough to hear it.”

There was a pause, and Dorian sighed. “As long as the moral of the story isn’t ‘down with mages,’ I shall be relieved to hear it.”

His companion laughed, and Dorian felt just a bit of the ever-present chill fade from his bones. 

-

Apparently, the legend had to do--as so many legends did--with Andraste, particularly with her pyre. There was a great deal of poetic license in any given telling regarding the growing heat of the flames before she was taken up to join her immortal husband, bestowing upon their earthly flock the grace of true warmth. 

Which explained nothing of how they all survived for so long freezing their asses off beforehand. 

But that was nitpicking. 

The gist of the story was this: 

Everyone had a soulmate, and until they met their soulmate, their heart was surrounded by a layer of ice. As they drew closer to their fated partner, the ice began to thaw, and their heart would grow warm, until finally, in the arms of their love, they knew true comfort and warmth. 

Dorian decided to take it all in with a grain of salt. 

It seemed a bit outlandish, as far as explanations for hellish weather patterns went, though it did explain quite a bit of the average Tevene social climate. And the eternal popularity of the steam rooms and bath houses. 

There were a few things these frostbitten Fereldans could probably afford to import, evil magisters or no. 

-

Felix found the tale charming when Dorian related it to him, all bundled up in blankets and urging Dorian to leave off stoking the fire. He was  _fine_ , he insisted. He would be fine. 

But Dorian saw the way his fingers trembled, and he thought the entire philosophy more than a bit ridiculous. 

If someone like Felix could waste away like this, cold and alone without the ‘hearth fire of a beloved heart,’ then there was simply no such thing. 

-

Honestly, once you became used to it, the temperatures in the south weren’t so bad. Though Dorian would never admit it, he began shedding a few of the protective layers he’d taken to swaddling himself in. 

Eventually, he returned to a more fashionable wardrobe, one shoulder bared to reveal the smooth, tanned skin he so prided himself on. 

He gathered more and more local folklore, sharing it with Felix in the evenings over warm brandy and fond memories. 

It was on one such evening that Felix smiled, “I’ve arranged a meeting with the Inquisitor, Dorian. There’s hope for us yet.”

To keep that smile on his friend’s face, Dorian was willing to believe in any miracle. 

-

Dorian supposed it was a given that the Fade ignored the standard temperatures of the waking world, but the amount of heat gathering in the Chantry was simply ridiculous. 

For the first time since he’d ventured into the frigid south, he felt as if he might need a cool bath to sluice the sweat gathering on his skin. His palms slid just slightly as he turned and tipped his staff, resorting to good old fashioned bludgeoning to finish off a particularly tenacious demon. 

The sound of the doors opening was secondary. A bright flare of hope,  _Maker do let some of that cold air in,_ and he nearly laughed. 

What would that old woman say about all of this?

-

After the rift was safely closed up, mourned only by the lingering sparks of green, the heat lingered. Dorian supposed he ought to enjoy it while it lasted.

But the sound of the qunari’s voice rattles inside him, raking like hot coals over his heart. “ _Watch yourself, the pretty ones are always the worst.”_

And as he makes eye contact, he knows the sentiment is horribly correct. Along with several others he’d been  _praying_ were utter nonsense. 

He watches the other man, the way his one eye goes wide, flaring and settling with the burning heat in his chest. 

_Oh, hell._ He thinks.  _So this is warmth._

He’d always heard that qunari ran hot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt or scream with me on tumblr. ](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


	3. If We Spirits Have Offended - Modern AU, Drama Teacher Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word around the water cooler is that Pavus is dramatic, but an excellent teacher and a helpful coworker. But they never mentioned that he was hot like burning, which is an observation Bull quickly makes when the man comes flying into the teacher’s lounge on Thursday, all breathless flare and wild eyes.
> 
> “I need an Oberon!”
> 
> “Gesundheit.” Cullen says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Trashbien](http://trashbien.tumblr.com/) prompted : Teacher AU Dorian is a teacher and is like ‘I’m the drama teacher and you’re the only who can actually act help me demonstrate this love scene to my students and they end up kissing and wow you’re a really good kisser also everyone is staring oops
> 
> A helpful anon reminded me about [this glorious performance,](http://fuckyeahqueershakespeare.tumblr.com/post/55382025507) and I went from there.

Bull isn’t exactly well-acquainted with the new Theater teacher. They don’t run in the same circles. It’s not even the usual rivalry between the athletics and fine arts departments. They’re just never in the teacher’s lounge at the same time--Phys Ed and Theater take up different time slots, so when Mr. Pavus works his weird voodoo magic on the coffee machine, Bull is shouting encouragements at whiny teenagers as they run laps. When Bull laughs as his coworkers make faces and bitch about Tevene coffee and how strong it is, Pavus is ranting dramatically at a smitten auditorium of young thespians.

But Bull hears things. He’s got good ears, and he pays attention, even when people assume he’s a big, dumb jock. He knows that Pavus is passionate about his work, and the wellbeing of his students. He knows that the man uses his own magic to bring the source material to life, even if it drives the PTA a little bit batshit, and he knows that the drama students would probably go to battle for their teacher.

He encourages them to approach life with a flair for the dramatic, and while it’s occasioned a lot more eloquent whining than Bull was previously used to, it’s also much more entertaining to watch students climb up on tables to reenact scenes from their favorite plays during the lunch rotation.

Bull is partial to Sera and Hera’s rousing rendition of the spanking scene from _Kiss Me Kate_ , even if Miss Giselle nearly chokes on her own tongue when she catches the performance. She can guidance counsel them all she wants, but there is nothing in this world that can stop Sera from finding her way onto her girlfriend’s lap.

Word around the water cooler is that Pavus is dramatic, but an excellent teacher and a helpful coworker. But they never mentioned that he was hot like burning, which is an observation Bull quickly makes when the man comes flying into the teacher’s lounge on Thursday, all breathless flare and wild eyes.

“I need an Oberon!”

“Gesundheit.” Cullen says.

“Heathen.” Dorian shakes his head, eyes scanning the rest of the assembled faculty before alighting on Bull. “You. You’re Mr. Hissrad?”

“Yeah. Something I can help you with?”

“Are you at all familiar with _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_?”

“You could say that.” He smiles over the rim of his coffee cup, watching the light spark in the ‘vint’s eye.

“Particularly the recent version performed at the Globe?”

“Could say that, too.”

No one suspects the gym teacher to be a Shakespeare nerd. Bull enjoys the confusion playing on the other man’s face, followed swiftly by intrigue.

“Excellent. Might I borrow you for a few moments? Provided you wouldn’t mind--”

“Kissing you? Nah,” Bull sets down the cup. “I think I could deal with that.”

“Wait, what?” Cullen coughs, but Bull just pats him on the shoulder before moving to follow the theater teacher from the lounge.

“Good man.” Dorian straightens his posture and clears his throat, but there’s no missing the flush on his cheeks.

Dumb jock indeed.

-

Dorian had gone to the lounge in search of someone to monologue at, optimistically someone who might mimic a more powerful Oberon/Puck relationship. He’d thought perhaps Mr.Rutherford would tolerate him flitting about and touching his shoulders.

Instead, he’d managed to land a knowledgeable partner in the legendary qunari gym teacher. And Maker, would the man make for a striking Oberon.

Dorian gestures for the other man to take the stage as he stands off to the side, watching eagerly as Bull shakes his head and motions for the kids to settle down. There are a few moments of lingering cheers and tittering before he draws their attention.

He takes a deep breath and crouches down, leaning towards the audience as if bringing them into his confidence. In a rich, growling tone he says, “I wonder if Titania be awak’d; Then, what it was that next came in her eye, which she must dote on in extremity. But here comes my messenger!”

He even _stands_ powerfully, towering up and up as Dorian fairly leaps onto the stage and turning to stalk him as he alights.

“How now, mad spirit! What night-rule now about this haunted grove?”

“My mistress with a _monster_ is in love!” Dorian cries, and Bull affects vibrant joy, beaming, body language open as they turn about the stage. He works through the monologue less with an eye to how the students react as to how the other teacher does.

Bull’s eyes are bright, intelligent, and nearly predatory as he postures and poses accordingly, a pleased master with more sensual motives. Dorian ignores the heat in his belly and continues on, but Bull seems even less concerned by their observers.

“I led them on in this distracted fear, and left sweet Pyramus translated there; When in that moment, so it came to pass--Titania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass!”

“This falls out better than I could devise!” Bull _roars_ , and like a tether has been cut, he stalks toward Dorian, who looks to the students for their reaction. The man is _powerful_ on stage. He’d wager, in fact, that he’d missed a greater calling, except at the moment he’s being scooped into a pair of muscular arms and flipped upside down as a pair of warm, soft lips take his mouth.

His stomach swoops with the change in gravity, and everything flies into a warm, tingling sensation as a tongue dips just past his lips, teasingly. The students are wooping and laughing, offering up hearty applause, but it’s all a dull echo in his ears.

The kiss was supposed to last a moment or two, but he finds his fingers seeking out scarred grey skin and digging in, his tongue darting out to play with Bull’s. This is a really bad time to start chubbing up in his pants, but apparently _no one told his dick._

Ah, but then the kiss does end, and Dorian remains dangling upside down, one foot hooked over Bull’s horn as he blinks dazedly.

“That, children--” He narrowly avoids squeaking, “was _passion_.”

And as Bull turns him about and gently sets him down, he doesn’t miss the firm pressure of a hand against his hip.

“You let me know if you’d like to study the subject a bit more.”

A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in the sort of muscles Dorian would very much like to examine up close.

He whispers, “Fear not, my lord. Your servant shall do so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My tumblr.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


	4. Small Parasites - Modern AU, kidfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Krem accidentally abducts a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolded words are in Tevene.

Most kids bring home stray cats and dogs, even the occasional injured squirrel or rabbit. But as Bull blinks in confusion on the park bench he’s occupied while the kids mess around the park, he finds himself completely surprised.

Krem isn’t really the _type_ to pick up strays.

The kid has a _heart_. He’ll take them to a vet or a no-kill shelter, but he knows better than to get attached and bring them home. (It’s honestly a little bit heartbreaking, but they’re working on that.)

The really mind-boggling thing here is that Krem has somehow picked up a preschooler. The kid is all bronze skin and dark, curly hair with truly _massive_ hazel eyes staring right back up at Bull.

“Avanna.” The kid says.

Tevene. Oh, boy.

“Hey.” Bull smiles. “Where’d you come from?”

“The playground,” Krem says. “He latched on to me at the playground and now he _won’t let go._ ”

“So you...brought the kid here?” Bull is trying hard not to laugh, he really is, but Krem looks about three seconds from prying the five-year-old off with the nearest tree branch. He’s almost a teenager, and he’s _petrified_ of baby cooties.

“Avanna!” The kid repeats, cheeks puffed out.

“ _Avanna!_ ” Krem snaps, “ _Maker_.”

But just like that, the child is beaming and bubbly, nuzzling his face against Krem’s leg.

“His ma’s gonna be looking for him, Krem. You can’t just walk off with somebody’s kid.”

“Don’t have one!” The kid chirps.

“Oh...uh...your dad, then.”

“ ** _Patri_** ,” He corrects. “I’ve got a **_Patri_. He loves me more than fashion.** ”

“What?” Bull frowns at Krem, whose nose is now very definitely scrunched up with distaste.

“He said his old man loves him more than _fashion._ What kinda nit says that to their kid?”

“Someone who loves fashion?” Bull shrugs. “You told me you wouldn’t trade me for a truckload of _bacon_ last week. Don’t judge.”

Krem mutters a word that Bull definitely told him not to repeat in polite company, and the small clinging child _cheers_.

“ _Kaffas!_ You said kaffas _!_ Patri said that’s a naughty word, but he says it a lot anyway. ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ That’s what Patri says.”

“Ooh, there’s an idea. Why don’t you go find _him_ and stick to _his_ leg.”

“‘Cause I dunno where he is.” The child wrinkles his nose right back at Krem, and Bull feels like this is some form of divine justice. “You _kinnapped_ me.”

“Kidnapped.” Bull offers, ever helpful.

“Yup.”

“I hate you.”

“Still wouldn’t trade me.”

“ _Look_ , I appreciate that you’re...small...and kind of cute. Or whatever. But I need my leg back. Can you let go?”

“Uh uh. Patri says if I’m lost, I gotta stay where I am.”

“That’s only if where you are isn’t _moving_.”

“You shoulda stayed _still_!”

“You shouldn’t have _grabbed me!_ ”

“Krem, hey…” Bull puts a hand on his son’s shoulder, ready to interject. The kid actually looks like he’s going to cry, now.

“ _Dante!”_

Bull looks up to see a man in the tightest jeans he’s ever seen booking across the green faster than he should physically be able to.

“ _Patri!_ ” The kid yells back.

The man slides to his knees on the grass and hugs both the child _and_ Krem’s leg. Krem is about as pleased about this development as one might expect.

Bull tightens his grip.

“ _Maker,_ ” The man breathes, then launches into rapid Tevene.

“ **You’re all right?** ”

“ **I’m all right!** ”

“ **I was scared.** ”

“ **Don’t be scared.** ” The kid-- _Dante_ \--releases Krem with one hand to better pet his father’s hair.

Krem’s expression begins to soften. His shoulders slump, and he stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. Bull can pretty well infer what’s going on.

“ **You’re really all right.** ”

“ **Yes, Patri.** ”

“ **I love you.** ”

“ **I love you too.** ”

That, Bull understood.

“ **I thought they took you.** ”

“ **No, Patri.** ”

“ **You can’t do that to me.** ”

“ **Sorry, Patri.** ”

“ **I love you.** ”

“ **Yes!** ”

And then, just as easily, the man slides back into Common, straightening Dante’s hair with deft fingers. He looks up at Krem with an arched eyebrow. “And whose leg am I hugging?”

“Er...Krem.”

“I take it there’s a story here.” He stands gracefully, brushing a bit of grass from his knees, but it’s a lost cause. Instead he holds his hand out and wiggles his ringed fingers, waiting for Dante to latch on and release his death grip on Krem’s shin.

“There was just some jerks givin’ him trouble.”

“They kicked sand in my face!”

Bull’s chest nearly _lights up_ with the sudden flare of pride, because _that’s_ the Krem he knows and loves. He grins, “Can’t resist fightin’ for the little guy, huh? The really little guy.”

“Yes!” Dante cheers, then frowns. “ _No_. I’m not little.”

“Compared to me you are.”

“ _Everyone’s_ little compared to you, Chief.”

“You stood up for him.”

“Yeah.”

Krem makes a muffled squawking noise as he’s pulled into a sudden embrace, the man grabbing him much like he’d grabbed his child. “ _Thank_ you.”

“Why do people keep _hugging_ me?”

The man laughs. “You’re a kind young man. This happens often, I’m afraid. Usually I’m near enough to sort it out, but... _Maker._ I looked up and he was _gone._ ”

Bull watches as the fight goes out of Krem and he slumps in the man’s hold. “Sorry about that. I mean...I guess I shouldn’t have walked off.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have been paying attention.” He releases his hold and looks toward Bull, hand outstretched. “Dorian Pavus.”

“The Iron Bull. This ray of sunshine here is Krem.”

“Krem,” Dorian repeats. “ _Thank you._ ”

“There’s nothing to _thank_ me for.”

“There is. Trust me, there is. What do we say, Dante?”

“Te amo!” The kid gushes.

Dorian blinks, clearly surprised. “Oh, dear.”

Krem flushes a _violent_ shade of red.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come submit prompts and say hello on tumblr. 
> 
> @ anabundanceofstilinskis


	5. The Invitation - Modern AU, Wedding Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dorian asks Bull to handle the wedding invitations, he doesn’t know how to express his uncertainty. It makes sense that Dorian wants him involved in the preparations, but Bull has literally no idea how to handle these sorts of things.
> 
> 'Ask Trevelyan' was probably not the best decision he could have made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired (and adopted) from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.

When Dorian asks Bull to handle the wedding invitations, he doesn’t know how to express his uncertainty. It makes sense that Dorian wants him involved in the preparations, but Bull has literally no idea how to handle these sorts of things.

Josephine might, but she’s still tangled up with venue preparations and dress alterations. When he asks the woman in charge of pressing and printing the invitations for advice, she taps her pretty pointed shoe impatiently and looks at him as if he were the worst sort of idiot.

So he leaves, and goes to find the one reasonably reliable married person he might be able to ask for help: Evelyn.

-

She scrunches her nose up when Bull hands her the samples. Blackwall, sat on the loveseat, is staring at the tissue paper like it might spontaneously combust.

Bull shakes his head. “It’s important I play a part in the wedding planning experience.”

Blackwall snorts. “Can the mage drink a glass of water while you say that?”

“Why _shouldn’t_ I help? It’s a ceremony that’ll tie us together for the rest of our lives, and it’s important to Dorian.”

“Exactly!” Evelyn says, tipping her beer bottle. “It’s not really _your_ wedding, Bull. It’s Dorian’s. It was very much the same with Josie and I. See, they’ve been dreaming of weddings since they were just children, about getting the chance to tell the world they’ve found that special someone. And dressing up and eating fancy cakes and shit. It’s all very elaborate.”

“So you’re saying I should tell him no. He asked me to handle _one thing_ , Boss.”

“I’m not saying you should tell him no. I’m saying maybe he was just...being nice. Giving up something he wanted so that you could feel involved, kind of like you do for him.”

 _That_ makes Bull’s stomach knot up.

Dorian’s not meant to give things up for him.

“All right,” Evie sighs. “Here’s what you do--you write a version of the invitation, but you do it badly. Dorian will see it, do it himself, and he won’t ask you to do anything more for the wedding. He’s happy, you’re happy, you’re welcome.”

“That’s awful, Boss. I’m not gonna fuck up the invitations just to get out of the work.”

“Dunno,” Blackwall says. “If Dorian really wants to do it, it can’t be so bad.”

“Look, when Josephine and I got married, she put me in charge of the music. I went through _five different options_ and she vetoed them all. The truth is, she wanted to do it! So I found a guitarist who went by the stage name ‘Dick the Pick’ and she took over the music. Easy as you please. I got to concentrate on backrubs and cuddling my gorgeous wife, and she got to plan every part of her dream wedding. Really, I’m no good at that shit anyway. Let the professionals handle it.”

“That’s really how these things work?”

“That’s a wedding.” Blackwall shrugs.

“Ah,” Bull scratches the base of a horn, looks down at his notepad, and sighs. “What the hell. Not like it can hurt anything.”

“Good man.” Evelyn smiles and takes the pad and pen from him. “Let’s get to work.”

-

Evelyn taps her lower lip with the pen, squinting at her notepad as if it might figure the answers out for itself. “All right, the first line of this thing should be…”

“Attention, pissants.” Blackwall drawls.

“No! It can’t be so bad that he figures out it’s on purpose.”

“Ah, right.” The man shrugs. “Never done anything like this…”

Bull doesn’t know if he means wedding invitations in general, or botching one on purpose. Either way, he’s hit by a twinge of sympathy.

“All right, well...what’s the first line of an invitation _supposed_ to be?”

Bull frowns, “Boss, you’re the only one here who’s actually married.”

She gives him a dry look.

“Mae insisted on paying for the wedding, and I think she’ll be giving Dorian away. So I guess it should be something like, ‘Thorold and Maevaris Tethras-Tilani request the honor of your presence…’”

“Okay, wait, wait. So instead of ‘Thorold and Maevaris Tethras-Tilani,’ we make it ’Thor and Mae.’”

“That’s good. ‘Thor and Mae’... Hey, you know what? Maybe we don’t need the ‘and.’ Maybe the ‘and’ is too fancy. Just make it an ‘n. With apostrophes. Thor ‘ _n_ Mae. Like Shake ‘ _N_ Bake, pork ‘ _n_ beans...Can we do that?”

“We just did.”

-

A few days later, Bull enters the Trevelyan house, smiling as he shakes off the snow that’s settled on his shoulders. He finds Josephine looking through a stack of papers on the couch. She brightens up a bit when she sees him.

“Hey, Josie.”

“Hello, Bull.”

“Boss in?”

“No, but she should be home shortly.”

“Great. We were gonna watch the game.”

“Ah. I’m sure that will be...captivating.” Josie prepares to attempt enthusiasm over a sport she honestly could not give less of a shit about--bless her--when the front door opens.

Dorian stands in the open doorway, his eyes fixed on Bull as if he’s just called off their engagement to pursue a torrid love affair with a nug. His shoulders rise and fall dramatically with his breath, as if he’s run all the way here in the cold. Hell, he’s not even wearing a jacket. “ _What did you do?_ ”

Bull rises slowly, as if his fiancee might attack at any moment. “What do you mean?”

“ _ **What did you do?**_ Sera just got this in the mail!” He holds up an envelope, his fingers crinkling the paper with their vice-like grip. “ _ **What did you do?!**_ ”

Bull takes soft footsteps to cross the room and takes the paper from Dorian, who stares up at him with his nostrils flaring. He looks it over and feels his stomach drop. “...This was in the mail?”

“ _What did you do, Bull?”_

“Nothing! This wasn’t supposed to go out.”

Josie stands from her seat as well, laying a gentle hand on his arm as she reaches for the invitation. “What seems to be the problem?” She’s using her ‘damage control’ voice, but that’s definitely not going to last for long.

And...yep. She gasps in horror after a few seconds of examining the words. “ _Maker’s breath!”_

“ _I_ _ **know!”**_ Dorian grits, moving closer to her as if to read the horrid words again. “I couldn’t even finish it because someone was screaming, and then I realized: _**IT WAS ME!**_ ”

“The wedding planner was supposed to print it out for you. You were meant to look it over.”

“She said you said ‘send it out.’”

“No! I said ‘print it out.’”

“Well, she _sent_ it out!”

“ _ **Maker’s balls!**_ ”

Behind Bull, the door opens again. He hears _Krem_ of all people say, “Dorian! _**Maker’s balls!”**_

“ _ **I know! Maker’s balls!”**_

“What happened to it?!”

“Bull! _**Bull**_ happened to it!”

All right _now_ Bull is panicking. “ _This wasn’t supposed to go out!”_

“Look at this!” Dorian flaps the invitation menacingly before raising it to read aloud: “ _Thor ‘n Mae!_ ‘ _ **N Mae! ‘N MAE?!**_ She’s not a bloody Avvar, Bull! She’s already done so much for us, and you--” He turns back to the letter. “ _Thor_ ‘ _ **N**_ _Mae_ Tethras-Tilani request the honor of your _**presents**_ \--”

Josie gasps, “Bull, you spelt ‘presence’ as in ‘gifts’!”

“ _ **It wasn’t supposed to go out!”**_

Dorian takes a deep breath before continuing, “You even put the wrong _date!_ The wedding is on the _9th_ , not the _6th!_ People will show up _three days early._ ” He looks at Bull with a desperately searching look, as if he expects him to say ‘surprise!’ and pull out the candid camera.

Bull wishes he could, even as Josephine makes a squeaking noise and reaches out to hold the edge of the paper, like physical contact will change what she’s reading. “Bull! What is this?! ‘ _Attire optional?!’”_

“It’s _black tie_ optional. ‘ _Attire optional’_ means ‘ _ **maybe naked.’**_ There are going to be _nude people. AT THE CHANTRY._ _ **ON A WEDNESDAY!**_ ”

Bull whispers, “It wasn’t supposed to go out.”

Dorian stares up at him again, his expression slowly crumbling, as if he’s about to cry. “Maker,” He says. “You don’t want to get married.”

“What? No! I do! Of course I do, kadan.”

“Then why would you make all of these mistakes? They’re so obvious. You’re _sabotaging the wedding._ You don’t want to marry me!”

Now Dorian _is_ crying. Bull goes to hold him, but the other man turns away. He follows, taking his fiancee by the shoulders and turning him about so that he can look at Bull while he explains.

“That isn’t why I made those mistakes."

“Then why _did_ you, Chief?” Krem sounds as if he might nail Bull in the balls himself.

“Because…”

“ _Chief..._ ”

“All right. All right, we just thought…”

“Who is _we?_ ” Josephine’s tone is actually threatening, which is something Bull never wanted to hear directed at him. But Dorian is shaking in his hands still, and it doesn’t matter.

“I asked Evie and Blackwall for advice, and…”

“Ah, hell.” Krem growls.

“Marriage isn’t a _thing_ where I’m from--let me finish--so when you asked me to help out with the invitations, I didn’t know what to do. And I know that Josie’s busy all the time, so I went to ask Evie.”

He can hear Josephine swearing in Antivan under her breath, but he can’t quite bring himself to regret letting the nug out of the bag.

“Evie and Blackwall said that...that you didn’t really want me to help. That you just wanted me to feel involved, and I...hell, I don’t care if the tables are covered in cheesecloth and daisies if it means I get to marry you, kadan.”

Dorian actually hiccups a little, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly.

Krem gags.

“I thought...that if you really wanted to do the invitations, it couldn’t hurt to print it out, give you a little laugh, and let you get what you really wanted.”

“I hope for your sake that’s true.” Dorian sniffs. “I have to go fix the invitations.”

“You still wanna marry me?”

“Oh, there’s no way in hell you’re getting out of it after _this_ stunt.”

Bull sincerely hopes not.

 

 


	6. Vertically Challenged - Modern Au, Librarian Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt : i’m too short to reach the top shelf and too stubborn to get a stool. you watched me take a running leap for it before you offered to grab the book for me

In his time working at the library in Skyhold University, Bull has seen some shit, and he’s put up with some shit. The two things are not mutually exclusive. Some days, dealing with the staff and students milling in and out of the ‘hallowed halls’ of the library is like herding cats. Others it’s like set management for amateur porn. 

Still, Bull is pretty well-suited for it, for all his outward appearance tends to stun new students. He’s patient, friendly, and he doesn’t embarrass anyone. Hell, he gives out more free therapy than the school counseling center. 

So when he hears a pattern of rhythmic grunting, he takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and goes to break up the horny undergrads humping in the stacks. Except what he finds is at least ten times better than a pair of co-eds. 

The hot grad student that transferred over from Tevinter is the source of the noise. Bull’s been babbling to Krem about him off and on for  _ weeks _ , and he is  _ not  _ just thinking with his dick. The man is quiet, polite and (occasionally) flirtatious when he needs to ask for something, and he reshelves his materials himself after each and every research binge. When he does check things out-- _ “I do read for pleasure, every now and then” _ \--he displays a taste for both well-written, thought-provoking literature and the trashiest romance novels ever to hit a printing press.

_ He is Bull’s literary soulmate, all right?  _

And now he’s standing in the Intercultural Reference section,  **_hopping._ **

Up and down. 

Trying to reach the top shelf. 

And then, suddenly, he stops and takes a deep breath, just as Bull had. 

He takes a few more steps away from the shelf, turns, and takes up a starter’s position like he’s going to  _ make a run  _ at the shelf. 

Bull catches him halfway to the target, laughing as he wraps the clearly flustered mage in one muscular arm and lets the momentum turn them ‘round. 

“Un _ hand me!” _

“Sorry,” Bull sets him down and sets to straightening out his rumpled clothing. “had to step in. Pretty sure we’re not supposed to let folks attack the books.”

“You and I both know that’s not what’s happening here.”

“Oh? Is it not?”

“You’re going to make me say it.”

“Well, I mean,” Bull grins. “You  _ were  _ going to take a running leap at a bookshelf.”

The grad student huffs, rolling his eyes as if Bull has deeply irritated him, but he’s still leaning in to the touches Bull feathers over him. “I may need assistance.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

The man rattles off the book’s title and author, and Bull plucks it neatly from the shelf. But before he can reach up to take it, Bull taps it gently to the top of his head, just to see the flustered look on his face.

“So do I get a name for this, or do I just keep calling you Hot Grad Student?”

He lifts the book away to find the other man looking briefly thunderstruck underneath. The smile breaks over his face just as suddenly as his laugh. 

“You’re the oddest man I’ve ever met. But I suppose Hot Grad Student is better than the Horned Librarian.”

“Dunno. I’d say they’re about even.”

“I’m Dorian.”

“I’m Bull.”

“Hm. I don’t know. I think I might like Horned Librarian better.”

“I can put this book back.”

“No!” Dorian blurts, hands reaching out to grasp the wrist holding the book. His fingers wrap over each other, and his palms are cool and soft against Bull’s skin. He blinks. “...You’re warm.”

Bull smiles. 

“You’re welcome.”

“...Thank you.”


	7. To Keep You Warm - Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Satinalia, and Bull has a surprise planned for his boyfriend. 
> 
> A really complicated surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: I hope you were srs on the christmas AU prompt coz im stuck between the “i did that annoying thing where i put loads of smaller boxes inside one big box and you’re getting really mad but you don’t know that the ring is in the smallest box and i can’t wait to see your face” for Adoribull. 
> 
> I twisted it a bit. I hope that's okay. <3

Dorian’s not certain how Satinalia’s _meant_ to be celebrated in the south, but something tells him that Bull’s methods aren’t precisely orthodox.

A _scavenger hunt_ of all things, and Dorian out trudging through the slush and snow in the oversized snow waders the qunari had insisted on buying for him. _Protect those cute little tootsies_ , he’d said, and Dorian had most certainly not blushed before begrudgingly shoving them onto his feet.

_I’ll see you later, babe._

And then Bull was off, presumably to await him at the end of this bizarre activity.

Dorian flexes his fingers, heat sparking and crackling between the tips before he allows it to die out, the warmth a pulsing swell underneath the skin. He pulls the note out of his pocket, huffs out a breath that curls into and out of visible existence, and goes on his merry way.

-

The first clue is -

(Well, it’s not exactly imaginative, but it is carefully thought out and clearly penned in Bull’s tidy hand.)

**_When it all goes tits up, I’m here for you. But it’s good to keep this place in mind. Just in case._ **

The first thing that occurs to Dorian is _Bull’s place_ , but then, he ruled that out in the latter half. For a moment or two, Dorian thinks long and hard about where he’d go if he needed help, and Bull couldn’t manage it.

And then he thinks back to their very first time together.

_Really._

_-_

The nurses are expecting him at their station, and one stabs at the call button with a near manic sort of glee. Stitches jogs up to him with a sympathetic smile on his face, and claps him on the shoulder.

“Sst!” He hisses. “You’re freezing. You need coffee?”

“I’m afraid if I stop moving, I’ll never start up again.” Dorian whines, ever dramatic. “And you’re only my first stop. Poetic, don’t you think?”

Stitches grins. “Don’t know if I’d say that. Don’t think relocating your nose counts as a proper introduction.”

“It went swimmingly on _my_ end.”

“‘s because we drugged you.”

“And there hasn’t been a dull moment since. Do you have another clue for me?”

“That, and a present.”

Dorian brightens up a bit at that, enthused enough at the idea of an incentive to continue this silly quest to stay and flirt with the nurses a bit while Stitches retrieves his prize.

But ‘prize’ doesn’t quite do it justice.

The doctor returns to him hauling a truly _massive_ tome, bound in leather soft and cracked with age, the cover a magnificent, gold-embossed work of art. Something in Dorian’s stomach seems to take off into the clouds as he carefully cracks it open and realizes that the pages are _enchanted_.

Beneath his fingertips, the illustrations come to life. A unicorn turns its head, its mane and coat flashing in absent light. The treatises on magical theory and procedure could easily double as _poetry._

“We’ve got tissues, if you need to cry for a bit.”

“No, thank you.” Dorian says, carefully closing the book. It will be a bit of a challenge toting this around with him, but entirely worth it. (And all the more reason to hurry this along so he can _kiss_ the horrid, thoughtful brute.) “Just the clue, please.”

“If you say so.”

-

Stitches sends him back into the cold with the following--

**_There’s a whole lot more like this one there. And plenty of shelves to hide behind, if you’re feeling adventurous._ **

**_(I’d go just about anywhere with you.)_ **

Dorian flushes a bright, heated red.

This one’s easy.

-

He finds Rocky and Grim stamping their feet against the cold at the base of the library steps, right under the warning snarl of one of the great stone lions. Rocky nearly jumps up and down when he spots him, eager to fork over the next clue and get back inside like any sane person should.

Grim just rolls his eyes.

“I expected to find you inside.” Dorian says. “In the ‘Adventure’ section. It seemed a bit heavy-handed, really.”

“We _would_ be, if we weren’t banned.”

“Banned? _Both_ of you?”

Grim actually _grins_ , which is only slightly terrifying, given the occasion.

Rocky has the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “We’ll have to go inside after this.”

“Hm?”

Grim hands over a chord and pendant, dawnstone accented with a simple yet elegant metalworked design.“Stay warm, Dorian.”

Dorian blinks at him, fighting down the urge to blush. Again.

From Grim, the sentiment means quite a bit, especially partnered with the radiating heat and comfort emanating from the pendant in his palm. The stone, like the tome, is obviously enchanted, this time with a heat spell.

Thoughtful gifts, just for him.

“Stay warm, both of you. If I survive this mess, I’ll buy you both a drink.”

“Knew you cared, Feathers.” Rocky laughs. “We’ll see you then.”

Dorian takes the next note from him with warm, careful fingers.

-

**_Really there’s not a whole lot I can offer, but I know a few people with some skills of their own._ **

**_You’ll always know where to find us._ **

Dorian rolls his eyes, but he smiles all the same.

-

Dalish and Skinner are at their usual spot in the bar, huddled up and whispering back and forth over something apparently cradled in Dalish’s lap.

He has to clear his throat to get their attention.

Dalish _giggles_ when she gets a proper look at him, all bundled up and flush with cold, clutching at his book and curving his shoulders inward as if it might spread the heat coming off the pendant.

Skinner snorts. “You look a mess.”

“Thank you. It’s an _art_. I suppose you lovely ladies have another clue for me?”

“ _May_ be,” Dalish lilts. “But I’m tempted to hold on to it.”

“Can’t. ‘s borrowed, anyway.”

“I’m sorry?” Dorian frowns.

“You don’t get to keep this one. It’s a shame, really. But it’s _borrowed_ , get it?”

“...Not really?”

Dorian might seek a more comprehensible explanation, if not for the very fuzzy, very adorable kitten Dalish cheerfully plops into his arms. It skitters a bit against the tome until Dorian sets the book down and gets a proper hold of it.

“Is this--a _cat?!_ Really?!”

“A _borrowed_ cat.” Skinner adds, as if he might at any moment decide to twirl his moustache and abscond with the animal to some nefarious end. Bull insists she likes him. Ha.

“How did you manage to get a cat in here?”

“Well, I walked in with ‘im, and when Cabot started grumbling, Skinner gave him The Look. Anyway, he likes us, and who could say no to that face, eh?”

Dorian can think of a few people. ...He’s not one of them.

Skinner tucks the next clue into his scarf and promptly cuddles closer to Dalish.

This is his cue to leave.

-

**_Bum knee and all, I’ll always walk with you. Maybe a bit behind. You and your long legs, always heading somewhere important!_ **

**_Give a guy a chance to catch up._ **

He remembers a particular summer evening, after a ‘ _proper’_ trip out for dinner and desert. They’d walked around the park for _hours_ before Bull had finally admitted he was hurting.

Dorian’s fingers flex at the memory of cool grass and tense muscle, sitting by the lake and listening to the crickets chirr as he soothed the ache away. He’s never minded the wait.

-

By the time Dorian figures out where Krem is stationed, waiting with a smug grin by the botanical garden’s south entrance, his nose is a brilliant shade of red, and he looks about ready to set the bushes on fire. The park is not a small one, and he’s been at the hunt for an hour or so longer than he’d hoped.

Even with the sunlight beginning to fade, the scent of sugar-roasted nuts is rich in the air. (One of the few good things about winter in the south.) Children plod along in the snow, darting between their parents’ legs and laughing, occasionally plopping down on the ground to slosh out a few messy angels.

Deep inside, he’s just a bit jealous. This was a simpler sort of childhood, a sense of family that seemed beyond him, even before he’d become a true ‘adult.’

He reaches chilly fingers into the pocket of his coat, feeling for the warm, soft body for a bit of comfort. Not one to disappoint, the rumbling beastie butts at his hand before lapping at it with a tiny, sandpapery tongue.

He’ll be sad to give the little furball back.

And then there’s Krem, waiting up ahead with a sympathetic smile, clutching at...oh, dear.

-

“What is _that_?”

“A sweater.”

“Did you make it?”

“Not me.” Krem holds the bright blue monstrosity up so that Dorian might be further blinded, he imagines.

The thing is large and almost impossibly _fuzzy_ , with one arm clearly longer than the other. If Dorian ever puts the thing _on,_ it will at best be an off the shoulder tease, and at worst--and far more likely--leave him looking like the girl from Flash Dance with far worse taste.

“Bull knitted it.”

“He what.”

“He begged me to teach him to knit, and ah...this...happened.”

Dorian stares blankly at it for a moment before reaching out to touch the material. The construction is clumsy, but the garment is clearly warm and very soft…

Bull _made_ this.

Gently, he tugs the material from Krem’s grip and runs his hands over the stitches thoughtfully. “Sentimental.” He says.

“Yeah. A little misguided, though. I wanted to explain, before you headed for your next stop. The Chief’s intentions are sweet and all, but he’s not really getting the point here. And I’m guessing neither are you.”

“There’s a point to all of this? I hadn’t guessed.”

“It’s a tradition, down here. For a, uh...special occasion. I’ll walk you over.”

“You’re not going to make me hunt him down?”

“Nah.” Krem drops the note on top of the fabric piled in Dorian’s arms. “It’s pretty smooth sailing, here on out.”

**_Basically what I’m trying to say is I love you. Meet me at the Gazebo?_ **

Dorian racks his brain, but can’t quite recall any sentimental events at the gazebo. It was pretty, certainly, but often overrun with angry ducks in the warm months, and giggling teenagers groping each other in all seasons.

“C’mon,” Krem says. “You’ll see.”

-

In the gazebo, all lit up in fairy lights, packed with their friends, and with a beaming Josephine bowing her violin, Bull is kneeling.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” Dorian says. He is _not crying,_ no matter what Sera claims later. “A hopeless romantic. It’s horrid.”

“Yeah, well, pretty sure I’m stuck now. You’ll have to help me up.”

Dorian shoves the book and sweater into Cullen’s waiting arms and _throws himself_ at the kneeling qunari with his big dumb syrupy smile. He whispers, _“Yes yes yes.”_

“You’re not too mad at me?”

“It’s impossible to be mad at you. I can take a little cold.”

“Wasn’t lying, though. I’m stuck here. You’re gonna need to help me up.”

“Of course I do.” Dorian laughs, fingertips already glowing with the beginnings of a proper spell. “Every time.”

Their friends all cheer.

The cat in his pocket gives a tiny, harassed _yowl_ , and Dorian pulls him out with a watery grin.

Bull shrugs, “Cole really wanted to help. Hey, Little Guy.”

-

Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.

(The name sticks, and so does the cat.)


	8. xvii - Cannon verse, Bull reads to Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull reads to Dorian, over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Tol and Smol prompts on tumblr, an anon requested...well, any of them. 
> 
> I managed:
> 
> • Tol is reading a book and Smol snuggles up under their arm
> 
> • Tol is the soft gentle kind half of the OTP and Smol is a tiny ball of rage

Dorian spends a grand majority of his time in the library, surrounded by books and the scent of ink and old paper. It’s always been something of a comfort to him that no matter where he is, or how impossible his circumstances may seem, libraries and the materials inside them vary little by location.

In the south, he’s had the opportunity to sift through a great deal of information, the majority of it written in Common. That’s how it started, really. He’d come to a phrase he couldn’t parse, and it vexed him.

He didn’t _want_ to ask for help, so he’d spent an hour or three going through the surrounding text and attempting to puzzle it out. Still nothing.

By the time Bull found him, all easy grin and casual greetings like Dorian hadn’t run out on him the night before, the mage was downright ornery.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Bull asked.

Dorian tossed the book down with a disgusted grunt. “Yes, well, you’ve caught me out. I fail to understand this puerile text.”

“‘Puerile,’ eh?” Bull laughed, the same low, rumbling sound that had so swayed him the night before. He moved to the desk and carefully extracted the book, cracked open to Dorian’s last page.

Dorian huffed. “Really, I don’t need…”

“It’s a poem.”

Dorian was quiet for a moment, then more than a bit embarrassed. Of course Fereldan anthologies would have a different stylistic arrangement.

Of course they did.

He bit his cheek and made a concentrated effort not to snap at Bull for realizing something that he had not, especially since he was being so considerate about the whole thing.

“I do not love you,” Bull said, gentle and deep, “as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

Even in the insulated warmth of the library, Dorian shivered and was caught.

Bull’s eye rested on him with a still caution, as if waiting for Dorian to make a decision.

_Stay, or go?_

“Please, continue.”

“I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body…”

Like that, something shifted.

Dorian settled back in his chair, spellbound and gazing upward at all that Bull implied.

-

Now, skin hot and flushed from the fire and Bull’s thorough attentions, Dorian shifts out of his arms. It has been a month or two since last he fled the room after their activities, and Bull has begun to allow himself soft sighs and wistful looks when it seems as if Dorian might disappear again.

But, just like always, he returns with a gently worn book in hand.

He keeps it in the nightstand— _his_ nightstand. The one Bull bought for him. A pretty thing it is, with delicate designs carved into the rich wood. In it, he stores a few of his lotions, their oil, and (carefully separated from the other contents) a very special book.

With a contented little smile, he snuggles back up under Bull’s arm and hands the book over.

“What’ll it be tonight, kadan?” Bull nearly hums with the familiarity of it, pleased at Dorian’s easy closeness.

“Our first, if you would, amatus.”

“Ah. My favorite.”

Dorian presses his cheek to Bull’s chest and basks in the beat of his heart and the vibrations as he reads the familiar lines that they both know by heart.

“ _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where ‘I’ does not exist, nor ‘you,’ so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”_

They return to this.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sonnet is xvii (i do not love you...) - Pablo Neruda


	9. You Will be Assimilated - Modern!AU feat. Single Dad! Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull accidentally acquires a family because he forgets to lock his door. 
> 
> for trashbien's prompt: "I asked you to babysit one time and now my child keeps asking when you will spend time with them again" for adoribull. Maybe the child is called Felix and Bull is his new neighbour, who keeps helping with the little boy?

Bull is still up to his neck in moving boxes— mostly because he’d insisted on individually wrapping each and every tchotchke— when the kid shows up. He doesn’t even realize it’s a kid at first. For a brief, horrifying second, he thinks there’s a ghost in his new place.

But then there’s a small child crawling up the cardboard mountain. Bull blinks at him, and he props himself up, beaming gleefully and posing so that he might be better seen. “Hi!” He chirps.

“Hey, uh…”

“You’re big.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“I wanna be big.”

“I mean, you could eat your vegetables?”

The child pouts at him. “Wanna be big.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

His arms go up in the universal motion for ‘lift me, twit.’ Ah. “ _Big._ ”

“Do not.” There’s a guy—a _hot_ guy—standing in the open doorway of Bull’s new apartment, arms crossed and looking at the child disapprovingly. “You’ll only encourage him.”

-

His name is Dorian, he’s really very sorry, and Bull wants to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.

-

Bull doesn’t pick Felix up the first day, but he does ruffle the little guy’s hair as he leaves. Despite the awkward introduction, the kid is really very eager to prove that he is not, in fact, a devious burglar out to steal Bull’s collection of random crap.

He presses a big, wet kiss against the stubs of Bull’s missing fingers and sings, “Bye bye, Big!”

Bull does not melt. Not even a little.

-

(Bull melts a lot.)

-

Bull is settled on the couch, watching an infomercial and zoning out when he hears the tiny voice again.

“Big,” Felix says, hopefully, and then remembers to rap at the already-open door. “Big!”

Bull drags himself off the couch with a soft groan before lumbering over to crouch by the child. “What’s up, little man?”

“Shoe’s untied.”

“Uh…”

“Shoe’s untied.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Please?”

“You want me to tie it?”

“Yes!”

Bull hears the familiar _tamptampthump_ of footsteps in the hallway beyond, and he glances up to find Dorian, again, arms crossed and frowning down at Felix. “Do not.” He says, same as always. “We’ve done this bunny goes ‘round the hill nonsense for a solid month, Felix, you at least have to _try_.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Bull says, smiling what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “C’mon, little man. Lemme see you tie your shoes.”

Felix puffs up at that, suddenly on a mission _other_ than suckering Bull into obeying his every whim. He plops down onto his little rump, feet in front, and Bull watches with honest enthusiasm as he sticks out his little tongue and _concentrates_ on guiding the bunny around the tree and into the hole.

It takes him two or three tries, but he does it.

Bull glances up at Dorian midway through to find the other man watching him with an odd little smile on his face. He does not melt. Not even a little.

-

(Bull melts a lot.)

-

Felix throws himself into Bull’s chest and just...snuggles in there.

So Bull picks him up, just for a little while. Just so he can be big.

Dorian bumps Bull’s hip with his own and reaches up to straighten Felix’s hair a bit. It doesn’t mean anything.

-

Bull is in the stairwell, pausing to adjust the grocery bags in his arms when Felix appears on the landing. _Oh shit_ , he thinks, even as Felix seems to draw in a great big breath.

The child gets right up to launching himself down the steps toward Bull, a massive grin on his face, when Dorian catches him by the back of his shirt. “Do not!” He snaps, and swings Felix back onto the firm ground at the top of the stairs. “We’ll not be making another trip to the hospital if I can help it!”

“Eh,” Bull smiles, trundling up to the top of the stairs even as Dorian stares disapprovingly at his giggling child. “I’ve got a friend works over at Victoria General. Could be fun.”

“Bull, I will _fight_ you.”

“So long as you promise to kiss it better.”

“Ugh. That would almost be cute if we weren’t discussing a trip to the ER.”

Bull waggles his eyebrows, and Felix lets out the strangest little screech.

“Big!” He yells. “How’d you do that?!”

Bull heaves a great big sigh, smiles and says, “Just lemme get this stuff put away, huh?”

“Must you?” Felix huffs in a _perfect imitation of his father,_ and Bull nearly drops the bags.

Dorian catches the one that slips.

-

Bull is in the kitchen, whistling broken up bits of sleazy bar songs as he dices vegetables for a proper, hearty stew. He nearly cuts himself when he hears, “Big?” in a voice that most certainly does not belong to little Felix.

He turns to stare at Dorian, dressed down in a pair of jeans that somehow manage to be both comfortable and skin tight, topped with a richly woven v-neck sweater.

“Big.” He smiles.

“Somethin’ I can do for ya, big guy?”

“I’m cold.”

“Yeah?”

“Very cold.”

“You need a jacket?”

“Warm me up.”

“See, now...there are a couple of ways this could go…”

Dorian snorts and presses up against his side, leaning up on his toes to place a kiss against his cheek. “Felix will be at Sera’s for the next three hours. You have until then to wine me, dine me, and bend me over properly.”

  
  
  



	10. Shelter - Canon verse, Bull nurses Dorian's migraine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right about now, Dorian should be brushing off bits of ash and dirt (and the occasional bits of human flesh), sighing dramatically about sullying his good robes.  
>   
> This is new. And very worrying.  
> -  
> for the anon prompt: "Dorian gets terrible headaches. Bull doesn't know until it's bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qunari children's tales are only slightly more terrifying than Fereldan ones.  
> I recorded the entirety of The Seer's Yarn. It's posted [here.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/tagged/the-seer's-yarn/chrono)

Bull has always experienced Dorian as a grand rush of sensation, a flare of heat accompanied by flashing light and roaring sound. Dorian himself is an unstoppable sensation, warm and lingering like spices on the tongue.

He can appreciate it even more now that he’s tasted just how sweet Dorian can be, back arched and grasping tightly at each lewd sensation.

Fuck, the _sounds_ he’d made, crying out beneath him, begging for release, for the pleasure of Bull’s seed inside of him. It had left Bull himself a bit lost, lips pressed to a damp shoulder, working worryingly large marks into vulnerable skin.

He had _wanted_ and he had _taken,_ surrounded by the chorus of Dorian’s desperate cries.

Dorian is always flash and noise.

So it surprises Bull when the heat dies down and the flames dissipate, and Dorian’s face is pressed against the wide expanse of his chest. The Inquisitor and Cole are finishing off the stragglers, the sounds of clashing swords and death rattles still scratching at the senses as they cut down their enemies.

Right about now, Dorian should be brushing off bits of ash and dirt (and the occasional bits of human flesh), sighing dramatically about sullying his good robes.

This is new. And very worrying.

“Big guy?” Bull says, and Dorian curls in further, seeming to wince away from the sound of his voice. He lowers the volume to a near whisper. “Dorian? You all right?”

“Just...just a moment.”

“Look, if you don’t want me to drag the boss over here to check you out, you need to tell me what’s happening.”

“My head.”

There are no obvious wounds from his current viewpoint. It didn’t _seem_ as if anyone had gotten in a solid knock. Dorian’s usually pretty good at flambéing anyone who gets past Bull.

“What about it?” Bull begins to pull away, trying to get a proper look at Dorian’s face, just to be sure, but the mage burrows in tighter.

“Please,” He whispers. “It’s too bright. Please just a moment longer.”

“Dorian, I need to see where you’ve been hit. We’ll get you to a healer, but I need you to let go for a bit.”

“There’s nothing the healer can _do.”_ Dorian hisses, his fingers digging against the warm skin of Bull’s arms for several tense seconds before gentling. “I thought I’d taken my medication this morning. I suppose not.”

He does not say _because I woke up in an unfamiliar place and was thoroughly distracted_ but Bull catches the implication nonetheless.

Shit.

Bull reaches up to clasp large, calloused palms over the mage’s ears before looking back over his shoulders. “Boss! Think we could head back to camp for a bit? Knee’s acting up.”

“Honestly, Bull.” Izzie huffs. “You think you’d take better care of yourself.”

Cole, for his part, gnaws at his lip. His eyes seem to drill directly through Bull’s back and into Dorian’s vulnerable form, but he remains blessedly silent.

For the entire trek back to camp, Bull keeps a surreptitious hand against the small of Dorian’s back, quietly announcing each obstacle in the path. Dorian relaxes, slowly, into the palm of his hand, his eyes still squinting against the light.

Like this, they make it back to their shared tent.

-

“I suppose I should thank you.” Dorian says, voice tight and aching, but Bull cuts him off with a rough snort. With more gentleness than Dorian thought possible a mere few days ago, the mercenary guides him back onto his bedroll.

Before he can protest, a cool wet cloth is laid over his eyes and blessed darkness sinks into his skin. It’s... _magnificent._ True relief releases the tension completely from his muscles, and he nearly sobs at the sensation of ebbing pain.

He can ride it out like this.

He wants to say more, wants to tell Bull what this means to him, but the words are lodged in his throat.

Still, in the cool darkness, he hears the soft rumble of Bull’s deep voice, stumbling and rasping through what must be the qunari equivalent of a lullaby.

“Are you singing me to sleep?” He smiles.

“Trying to.”

“Will you tell me what it means?”

“...Not if you actually intend to sleep.”

 _Definitely_ a qunari lullaby.

It works almost as well as the warm pressure of Bull’s fingers, playing through his hair and massaging at his temples.

This is enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to join us in [the Assquisition Discord.](https://discord.gg/JktrHUG)


	11. That Ugly Ratbeast Looks an Awful Lot Like an Ugly Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull is frightened of dogs, and Dorian happens to own what...may possibly be a dog. 
> 
> Maybe. 
> 
> Inspired by [this post on tumblr.](http://flowernstt.tumblr.com/post/156171603145/its-just-a-phage-fitzefitcher)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday, so I felt like I should get something posted. 
> 
> XD

In retrospect, it is literally all Krem’s fault. He can whine about Bull and his sweater-vested trainwreck of a boyfriend all he likes, but none of it would have come to pass without him. 

Sure, Bull may well have spotted Dorian walking along one day. Might have gotten it into his head to start up a conversation with the deliriously hot nerd still shivering in his impractical hipster uniform.

But he never would have gotten within ten feet without being stopped cold without Krem dragging him along the pavement. 

Because Dorian Pavus has a dog. 

Sort of. 

-

The dog —Dorian has it on reliable authority that Atlas  _ is,  _ in fact, a dog, and not some unfortunate voidbeast or damned soul trapped in a melting rat, as Vivienne insists—is wearing booties and a sweater vest coordinated to match Dorian’s own. 

The goggles, unfortunately, are a bit harder to work into the overall theme, but Atlas does seem more comfortable with them on. 

It doesn’t escape  _ him  _ that the overall picture they must paint is more than a little ridiculous. He’s never really thought of himself as a  _ dog  _ person...or an animal person in general. But Atlas, again, is most certainly not a normal dog.  

Dorian pauses, allowing his pet the opportunity to sniff at what is either a bike rack, an oddly-placed Fereldan art installation, or both. Atlas makes a warbling whiny noise and elects not to pee on it, either way. 

“A wise decision, I’d say.”

Atlas looks up at him, cocking his head first one way, then the other. 

“As if you can understand a thing I say.”

A put-out whine. 

“Though I suppose it is charming, that enthusiasm of yours.”

Atlas’ tongue lolls out, flopping a bit awkwardly before swiping over his nose and withdrawing once more from the cold. 

“Pizza?” Dorian tries, and the dog’s entire  _ body  _ seems to fill with sudden energy. He supposes he’ll have to find the poor creature  _ some  _ sort of treat after leading him on. 

As Dorian watches, the sun seems to get yet dimmer along the sidewalk. He looks up to curse silently at whatever miserable cloud is conspiring to make him even  _ colder _ , and finds instead a rather intimidating pair of men. 

Well, one man and one qunari. 

The qunari is a bit less intimidating, considering the way he seems to shuffle nervously away from Atlas’ twitching nose. Atlas, ever the fearsome guard beast, looks as if he might break his tail wagging it against the bike-rack-cum-hideous-art-installation. 

“Sorry to bother ya.” The human man coughs a bit awkwardly, and gives him a half-shrug. “Could me and my friend pet your dog? He gets nervous around ‘em, but yours is so small. I think it’d be a good place to start.”

Dorian blinks, momentarily startled. The usual reaction to seeing Atlas shuffling down the street is somewhere between pity for whatever accident he must have been involved in and a quick sign against evil. Certainly not  _ can I touch it _ . 

There’s an awkward moment, their breaths rising in a collective fog as the smaller human looks at him hopefully and the massive qunari looks as if he would very much like to exhale his soul and escape this mortal plane rather than touch Dorian’s tiny dog. 

Dorian finds it oddly  _ charming,  _ and finds he can’t help but smile. “Of course. His name is Atlas.” 

The man smiles, plopping right down onto the concrete—despite the wicked cold—and holding his knuckles out from under for Atlas to have a proper sniff. “I’m Krem, and this is—” He frowns, reaching up with his other hand to tug his sizeable friend down beside him. “This is The Iron Bull.” 

“The article’s important.” The Iron Bull adds, a tad weakly, settling onto the sidewalk beside Krem and wincing very slightly as he smacks his horn against the rack. “Are you sure…?”

Dorian’s smile gentles a bit, and he adds what honey he can to his tone. “He’s very friendly. I don’t think he understands how ‘mean’ works.”

“Yeah.” The Bull says, fingers twitching as if to reach out before curling in again. He looks genuinely upset by his body’s rebellion. “He’s, uh…”

“A love sponge,” Krem coos, scratching Atlas just below the goggle strap and chuckling when the dog stumbles and tries his best to flop on the petting hand. “C’mon, Chief.”

After a few more moments of Bull trying  _ very hard  _ to love the awkward creature wiggling around on the frosty ground, not much progress is made. 

Krem sighs, another plume of air rising. “Hey, uh…?”

“Dorian.”

“Dorian, can I maybe pick him up?”

“Be careful. The vest is a bit slippery.” 

The dog is, too, but that much is obvious just watching Atlas scramble around like a Weazel Ball. Still, Krem is very careful when he picks him up and places him, very gently, in The Iron Bull’s lap. 

The Iron Bull, for his part, makes a noise not dissimilar to the sound of air slowly escaping a helium balloon. Dorian resists the urge to giggle—just a bit—as he sucks in his belly a bit to be further from the excited canine. 

“Hey,” Krem says, not quite softly enough for it to be private. “Y’know I’d never let anything hurt you, Chief. He’s a good boy.”

And then, slowly, Bull releases his breath, and slowly lifts a hand to rub gently at the space between Atlas’ head and the collar of his little sweater vest. There’s not really much fur there to speak of, but the skin is warm and silky smooth, and Dorian knows from experience just how comforting the feel of it can be. 

Atlas sits miraculously still while Bull settles into the motions of petting him, doesn’t once try to jump or slobber on his new friend. 

And slowly, Dorian and Krem both grin as a light seems to dawn in Bull’s single eye. 

“Hey,” Bull says. “You’re not so bad, are ya?”

Atlas makes the odd ‘wrrgfh’ing noise that either means he’s gassy or that he loves you, too. 

And with a smile like that, Dorian can understand why. So he settles down on the pavement, close but not too close to The Iron Bull’s side. 

“He likes you,” Dorian says, and he’s not entirely certain he’s talking about the dog. 


End file.
